


Who Is In Your Heart Now

by Zee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Enemies to Lovers, Future Fic, M/M, characters expressing some real bad star wars opinions that the author herself does not endorse, cheating happens in backstory, derek is not actually satan in this i promise, derek/isaac is also referenced, non-endgame derek/scott, protective best friend stiles, ratings to go up in later chapters, stiles and lydia are ride or die platonic soulpartners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-03-27 04:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13873353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zee/pseuds/Zee
Summary: Scott starts dating his evil (according to Stiles) ex-boyfriend from high school again; Stiles is not having it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for the wonderful marble_flan <3 <3 <3
> 
> I'm so excited to be writing in this fandom again! But that being said, please forgive any canon mistakes as this author has not acknowledged Jeff Davis' existence since 2014. I know I put cheating in the tags but FYI so no one misses it, cheating does happen in the backstory to this fic but it is not Stiles and Derek cheating on each other. And Stiles/Derek is definitely endgame, sorry to any Derek/Scott or Derek/Isaac shippers out there. Thank you so much to mingoyoongi and oliviacirce for betaing. Title is from Who Is In Your Heart Now by Studio Killers.

One of the shittier things about life was the tendency it had to bring things back around. It shouldn’t work like that, right? Real life wasn’t a story that someone was telling, so those patterns shouldn’t feel so inescapable; events and people and lessons and places shouldn’t circle back like someone up there was searching for narrative threads to use for a sequel, but in Stiles’ experience that was exactly how it worked. It was eerie, it felt forced, and it never failed to give him a particular sort of helpless feeling, like his life was something he just revolved around but couldn’t actually affect in any way.

“You are being way too dramatic about this,” Scott told him, pointing his fork at Stiles for emphasis. There was a bite of pancake on it, syrup dripping down onto Scott’s breakfast plate. “This doesn’t even affect you, he’s not _your_ ex-boyfriend.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t even tell me that you’d run into him,” Stiles hissed, his own fork held in his clenched fist, pancakes forgotten. “I didn’t even know he was still alive! I can’t believe that I get to find out the tragic news that Derek Hale is not dead in a ditch somewhere by you telling me that above and beyond just running into him, you guys are dating again!”

“Yeah, and with how you’re acting now? I don’t regret not telling you that he was in my CPR class,” Scott said. He continued to eat his pancakes, which Stiles thought was really just indecent. 

“Well excuse me for being a little bit surprised that you are giving Satan Himself a second chance after he _cheated on you._ ” Stiles had the presence of mind to keep his voice low, considering that they were in a restaurant, but--oh my god. “Oh my god, that’s why you invited me out to breakfast, isn’t it? So that I wouldn’t make a scene?”

Scott frowned. “Why would I ever expect that you wouldn’t make a scene in public?”

Stiles ignored that, hacking one of his pancakes viciously in half with the blunt edge of his fork. “I can't believe you. This is bribery. These are blood pancakes.”

“Dude.” Scott’s fork clattered down on his plate as he leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling. “I figured you would be a pain about this but you’re still mega-overreacting. Derek’s nice, high school was a long time ago--”

“Satan! Himself!”

“--and you’re the only one who still cares about any of that old shit anymore,” Scott finished with a glare. “Seriously, it was a decade ago. And it’s not like he cheated on _you._ Everyone else involved let it go a long time ago, including me.”

Stiles felt his knee jittering, excess energy trying to find somewhere to go. He spread his palm over the hole in the thigh of his jeans, looking out the diner window at the parking lot as he stilled himself. It stung a bit, Scott’s judgy tone, the implication that Stiles was reacting to nothing. “First of all, I’m not everyone else. I’m your best friend, and no amount of blood pancakes will ever change that. It’s my job to look out for you when you’re too nice and forgiving to people who will never deserve it in a million years.” 

Scott did a bad job of trying not to laugh at the blood pancakes crack. “A million years is a really long time, Stiles.”

“Second of all, but still very related to my first point, you know him doing you wrong instead of me makes it impossible for me to let it go, right? Like if it was me, whatever, let bygones be bygones. But I care more about your stupid heart than I do about mine. And if you’re not going to hold a grudge, I have to hold it for you.”

Stiles gulped his coffee while Scott gave him a long, quiet look. When he set his cup down again, there was a frown line between Scott’s eyebrows and a soft look in his eyes. Stiles made a face, braced for some touchy-feely crap.

“You would not just let bygones be bygones if it was you,” Scott said finally, and Stiles snorted.

“Nope, almost definitely not. But my point remains. Actually, I still have more points. Third of all, Derek fucking sucks and is boring and lame and sucks--”

Stiles kept talking, enumerating his points on his fingers while Scott groaned and stuffed his mouth with pancakes. But he let Scott change the subject when he had to pause for breath, because even if this breakfast was a bribe, he didn’t want to ruin it. Scott didn’t bring up Derek again, not even as they waved goodbye to each other in the restaurant parking lot and went their separate ways. 

But Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the weekend. He had a tendency to obsess over upsetting things, his thoughts like a tongue worrying at a loose tooth when something was bothering him. Derek Hale wasn’t worth obsessing over, though, and Stiles was mad at himself for giving him the mental space. 

***

Scott was right that high school was a long time ago. Stiles had allowed Lydia to drag him to their ten-year reunion a few months back. Ten years was long enough that he no longer remembered the names of most of his teachers or classmates, long enough that he’d forgotten the plot of every book he had ever been required to read for an English class, long enough that he’d even forgotten the names of some of the people he’d kissed in desperation at parties and then moped about because they had never texted him back.

But there was no length of time long enough for Stiles to forget the excellent reasons behind his hatred for Derek Hale. He would still remember when he was old and gray and wheelchair-bound. He would still remember when the heat death of the universe consumed all life on Earth. 

Scott had dated Derek when Derek was a senior and Scott and Stiles were sophomores. At first, Stiles had been excited for Scott, because who wouldn’t be excited for their best friend when an extremely hot, super mysterious older guy started offering him rides home from parties and lacrosse practices and sneaking in through Scott’s bedroom window. 

Except that for Derek, being super mysterious wasn’t just a gimmick. He didn’t want to meet Scott’s friends or family, didn’t want Scott to meet his family (or friends, presuming he even had any), didn’t want to be open about their relationship at school. Or… anywhere. 

Stiles understood that not everyone wanted to be out, or could be out, especially not in high school. That didn’t quite explain all of Derek’s desire for secrecy, and it was shitty that Derek wanted to keep their relationship secret while Scott wanted to be more open. But still, it wasn’t just Derek’s reluctance to be out in public as Scott’s boyfriend that had earned him the Satan moniker from Stiles for the past ten years.

Scott and Derek had dated for a little over a year, until Derek cheated on Scott with Isaac Lahey. To this day, Stiles didn’t know how Derek and Isaac had even met; all he knew was that it had been devastating for Scott: idealistic, romantic, hopeful Scott, who’d pinned all his hopes and dreams on his first boyfriend, who’d always insisted that they would be together forever even when Derek was pulling weird shit like ditching their regular dates only to show up at Scott’s house after midnight. 

Scott was heartbroken when Derek came clean and broke things off. And then, the salt in the wound: Derek and Isaac had dated openly, their relationship going public in the gossipy halls of their high school only weeks after Scott and Derek broke up. Derek showed up at the end of the day to give Isaac rides home; Isaac would wander around wearing Derek’s jacket, or his sunglasses; Lydia spotted them holding hands outside of a movie theater once. 

Stiles didn’t know what had changed Derek’s mind about being out. At the time, he’d been dying to find out, his frustration over the situation channeling itself into curiosity. But Scott hadn’t cared about that question, hadn’t wanted to dissect Derek’s terrible decisions or analyze everything, he’d just wanted to move on. And really, Stiles figured that at the end of the day it didn’t matter what Derek’s reasons were. He was dead to Stiles for all eternity no matter what.

He should have been dead for all eternity to Scott, too. If there was any justice in the world, he would have been; but it was a grim, dark, unjust world out there, a world where Scott McCall had the heart of an angel and the self-protective instinct of a newborn baby deer. And Stiles was going to be the one watching when he got himself hurt again.

***

Stiles’ favorite part of his job was being co-workers with Lydia. Well, technically she was one of his superiors, but considering that a significant part of his day usually involved finding and pointing out her errors, it felt like they had a pretty equal working relationship. The newspaper had offered Stiles the opportunity to work from home full-time a few months ago, but even though his commute creeped close to an hour when traffic was bad, he’d turned down the offer because working with Lydia made it more than worth it. 

While they had different jobs (Lydia was a journalist, Stiles a fact-checker), their paper was run by Bay Area hippies who had allowed the staff to choose their own desk locations when they’d switched to an open-office floor plan. So Stiles’ desk was across from Lydia’s, even though the rest of the fact-checkers had their own little cliquey huddle in the opposite corner. 

Stiles was already at his desk when Lydia walked in on the Monday after Scott’s Satan-related announcement. The misery must have shown on his face, because before she even sat down Lydia was sighing, dropping her purse to the floor with her hands on her hips. 

“You know, I’ve had such a refreshing weekend. I feel relaxed, rejuvenated, I got eight hours of sleep last night, I had a smoothie for breakfast. And here you are, lying in wait to try and ruin all that for me with your drama.”

Stiles ignored that, letting his head loll on his neck as he stared up at her sadly. “Lydia, time is a flat circle.”

Lydia’s lips pressed together in a thin, annoyed line. “Okay, Garfield. You hate Mondays, we get it.”

“It’s not that,” Stiles said. “Today is so much worse than any other Monday has ever been. Unlike you, my weekend was not refreshing, relaxing, or rejuvenating. It wasn’t even revitalizing. Instead it was--” he squinted, trying to think of other re- adjectives. “Reductive. Recessive. Reprehens--”

“Please just tell me what happened, since you’re clearly dying to.” She sat down across from him, firing up her computer with one cheek resting on her manicured hand. She didn’t even glance in his direction. Stiles honestly treasured this about their friendship: no one else in his life came close to her level of glorious disdain. It riled him up and--in Stiles’ opinion--brought their banter to transcendent heights. Some people (Scott, Allison, his father, his first boss before that guy got transferred) might say it brought out all of Stiles’ worst qualities, but Stiles never paid any mind to outsiders’ opinions about his friendship with Lydia. They had a love.

“Scott took me out for brunch yesterday,” Stiles began. “I should have been suspicious from the beginning, because when have I ever known Scott to be a brunch person? He’s like, the only gay guy I know who doesn’t like brunch--”

“Stiles.” Lydia made a ‘get on with it’ motion and Stiles sighed, sitting up fully in his chair to hunch over his keyboard, grabbing for a pen and clicking it against the num lock key while he chose his words. Wow, there was a whole, like, mini-ecosystem of crumbs and grime in the grooves of his keyboard. You could probably put together the history of his last two years at this job just by dissecting the strata.

“Scott is making some really bad choices with his romantic life. He’s started dating Derek Hale again,” Stiles said with a shudder. Lydia’s face remained blank, which was very unsatisfying. Stiles continued, “Derek Hale? Scott’s first boyfriend, from high school? Older guy who cheated on him? Satan Himself?”

“Oh, right.” Lydia frowned, trying to remember. She and Stiles hadn’t dated until their senior year, and they hadn’t run in the same social circles before then, so she hadn’t witnessed Derek’s evil firsthand. Stiles supposed he could forgive her lack of an appropriate level of outrage, considering. “I thought he moved away from Beacon Hills ages ago?”

“Apparently he’s back in town. They met up again at a CPR class, can you believe it? As if that guy could save lives instead of ending them,” Stiles said darkly, and Lydia’s lips twitched in a smile.

Then she snapped her fingers, remembering. “Wait, he’s the one with the car, right? And the leather jacket, the accident in his family, all that?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “He also cheated on Scott, broke his heart, and then flaunted his new boyfriend in front of the whole school for most of junior year.”

“Right, Satan.” Lydia crossed her arms on the desk, Stiles’ favorite mean glint in her eye. “Wow, fuck him. I can’t believe Scott. That guy is way too forgiving.”

Stiles beamed at her. This was another thing that people didn’t always understand about why Stiles and Lydia were so close: they both had the same salt-the-Earth attitude when it came to wrongs being committed against them or their loved ones. 

Lydia had gone off to the East coast for college, like everyone in their school had known she would. She and Stiles had kept in touch and stayed friends, and Stiles had visited her on the East coast a few times. She always came back to Beacon Hills for the holidays, always made time for her high school friends, but it still took Stiles by surprise when she announced a few years ago that she was moving back to the area. 

By that point in Stiles’ career, he’d figured out that he liked the research part of journalism better than anything else, and he’d gotten this job as a fact-checker soon after Lydia started at the same paper. They were an inseparable team before too long. Stiles liked working for her, liked being her research gofer and the one she bounced ideas off of, liked helping her chase down leads and shape stories. He worked with the other journalists, too, when he had to. But by this point, the whole office acknowledged that Stiles was more Lydia’s personal research assistant than anything else, and he liked it that way. 

***

Scott didn’t mention Derek again for the next few days, and Stiles wanted to hope that maybe Scott had listened to him and sensibly nipped this thing with Derek in the bud. Stiles knew he was thinking about it kind of a weird amount, considering that it wasn't his relationship and they'd only had one conversation about it. Scott maybe had a point about Stiles being overly invested, not that Stiles would ever tell him that.

Then Scott texted him asking if Stiles wanted to go to bar trivia on Friday with him, a couple of their other friends, and… Derek. Scott being Scott, he didn’t beat around the bush. _we’re dating now so you might as well get used to him. be grateful im not asking you to hang out w/ just the 3 of us for hrs to hash out all your issues!_

Stiles did not feel grateful. He felt wronged by the universe.

He very maturely left Scott hanging for a couple of days without confirming whether he would come to trivia or not. And he really was undecided--every time he thought about whether or not to go, his stomach did an unhappy flip and he got pissed off all over again. 

“On the one hand,” he said to Lydia over lunch on Friday. “Depending on how long Scott takes to dump Derek’s ass for sucking so much, I’ll probably have to interact with him sooner or later, so maybe getting it out of the way now would be best.”

“And you’re a supportive mushball of a friend even when you don’t want to be,” Lydia said, not looking up from where she was giving her salad disapproving stabs. They really ought to find another regular lunch spot besides the Panera across the street from the office. It might be convenient, but too much Panera made Lydia cranky and Stiles depressed. Long-term, it was a real soul drain.

“On the other hand, Derek sucks and I hate his face.”

“Also true.” Lydia sighed, giving up her salad in favor of her phone. “Look, just go. I’m going, so at least you’ll have solidarity in your little hatred corner.”

“On the other other hand, that means you can hate him in my stead.”

Lydia looked at him. “I’ve never met this guy before. If you’re not around when I do, you run the risk that I might end up liking him.”

“Wow, you’re cold.”

“Just realistic. Stiles, come on. We both know that you’re coming tonight. Because you’re a good friend, and you love gloating when we win trivia.”

Stiles picked up his phone and opened his text thread with Scott. There were a few messages of different sad emojis that he hadn’t responded to. “Maybe I’ll gloat from my couch at home about how great it feels not to make nice with the worst person on the planet.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Did I say you’d be coming because you’re a good friend? What I meant was you’re going to come because you love drama too much to skip out.”

Stiles spluttered.

“Admit it. Ever since Scott told you he was dating Derek again, part of you has been dying for a little reunion with him, just so you can say all those mean things you’ve probably been practicing in shower arguments with yourself.” 

“Jesus.” Stiles found himself retreating back from the table, like her words carried concrete physical force. She always did have an uncanny ability to read him for filth.

Lydia looked pleased with herself, folding her arms over her chest and leaning back in her chair. “Just text Scott back already.”

“This doesn’t mean you’re right about the shower arguments,” Stiles grumbled, texting Scott that he’d see him at the bar at nine.

Stiles believed in forgiveness, in theory. For like, thieves and murderers, not for people who hurt Scott. But he could have forgiven Derek, maybe, in some parallel universe. The thing about the Derek in this universe was that he’d never seemed all that apologetic, at least not that Stiles had ever witnessed. 

For a few years after high school, before Derek fucked off to wherever it was he'd gone, Stiles and Scott would occasionally see him around. Those chance meetings never ended the way Stiles wanted them to, like maybe with Derek groveling on the floor and perhaps some light rending of garments. Instead, Stiles always looked at him and saw a guy who might be fairly sullen and awkward, but otherwise seemed to be doing okay. Townsfolk didn’t shriek and throw rotten vegetables when he walked past, and he didn’t have a neon sign flashing ‘UNTRUSTWORTHY MANWHORE’ on his forehead. Derek had dated Isaac for an even shorter period than he’d dated Scott, and from the gossip Stiles had heard their breakup was messy as hell, but only a couple years later Stiles had witnessed with his own eyes Isaac comfortably talking and laughing with Derek at a party. 

And while Scott was weirdly sanguine about Satan Himself now, that hadn’t been the case for such a long time. Scott had the biggest heart of anyone Stiles had ever met, and he didn’t let go of people easily. His relationship with Derek really did a number on him, and Stiles wasn’t sure when exactly he’d gotten over it. Sometime in college, maybe. For a long time, Stiles would fake spitting over his shoulder whenever Derek’s name came up in any conversation, because it usually made Scott smile. 

When had Scott stopped smiling at those occasional Derek disses and started groaning at them instead, telling Stiles that it was time to let it go? 

***

Scott, Derek, Lydia, and Malia were already at the bar when Stiles arrived, sitting at their usual table. Stiles slid into the only available seat, across from Derek and Scott, and said by way of greeting, “Wow, I know it’s been a minute since I last saw you, but you look so much older? Like, you look like you’ve aged a couple decades at least, it’s honestly incredible.”

Scott sighed heavily. Derek, who presumably must have been warned that Stiles was going to have some pent-up hostility to express, just quirked his mouth. “You look like you still get carded at R-rated movies.”

“I have a fountain of youth in my backyard, it keeps me fresh. Unlike you. You have the look of someone who’s going to die young--”

“Stiles, come on,” Scott said, glaring at him. Stiles frowned back and drummed his fingers on the table, reluctantly reeling himself in.

“It’s fine,” Derek said. And he looked like he meant it, like Stiles wasn’t bothering him at all as he shrugged and took a long sip of his beer. Stiles bet he was drinking an IPA. One of the gross really hoppy ones, like every other craft beer enthusiast douchebag around here. He took a vengeful swig of his own porter, deciding in a second that he wanted to get drunk as fast as possible. Next to him, Lydia patted his leg.

“Tonight’s trivia theme is Star Wars,” Malia said, leaning around Lydia to give Stiles a meaningful look. 

“Cool, I love carrying the whole team on my shoulders,” Stiles said. “Our team name should be--”

“Nerds who are late don’t get to decide the team name,” Lydia said, showing him their answer pad with ‘Chewie Wears Prada’ scrawled at the top. Stiles’ shoulders slumped a bit in disappointment.

“This is not a great intro to our regular thing. Usually Lydia’s the one who gets the most answers,” Scott said to Derek. “But she’s not a big Star Wars buff and Malia and I haven’t seen it, so--”

“You’ve never seen Star Wars?” Derek interrupted, aghast. Stiles glared at him.

Scott blinked at Derek. “Didn’t that come up in high school? I thought we talked about it once?”

“If we did, I’ve forgotten. I can’t believe you’ve never seen Star Wars.” Turning to Stiles, Derek said, “I can’t believe you’ve been friends with him this whole time and have never shown him Star Wars.”

Stiles felt his chest grow hot, anger tingling out from his breastbone through his shoulders, elbows, fingers. It was staggering, hearing Scott and Derek casually talk about their previous relationship like it was no big deal. It was worse having Derek take a dig at Stiles’ fealty to Scott, like he thought he could just joke about--anything, really, but especially that.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stiles spat out. “I was a little busy picking up the pieces after you broke his heart to have movie nights.”

Scott kicked him under the table, hard. “ _Dude!_ ”

Derek was leaning back from the table like Stiles had made a move to hit him. There was a stupid-looking blank expression on his face and he was blinking a lot, like he had no idea how to respond. Fucking good. 

“Movie marathons are great after break-ups, though,” Malia said in the ensuing silence. “Is Star Wars, like…. not good post-breakup material?”

“I just remember sitting through a speech about sand,” Lydia said, inspecting her nails. “Star Wars isn’t very good at romance.”

Stiles closed his eyes and tried to count to ten. But he couldn’t prevent himself from turning to Lydia and saying, “You really shouldn’t judge the whole story by the prequels. Especially not _Attack of the Clones,_ everyone knows that’s the worst one.”

Lydia flapped a hand at him. “Save that annoyingly pedantic enthusiasm for the actual trivia, nerd boy.”

“Wow, I’m really looking forward to this evening. Let’s play a game, I’m going to keep track of how many times tonight you call me a nerd and if you shoot past twenty you buy me a drink--”

Stiles was interrupted by the trivia host tapping on the mic and announcing that the first round was about to begin. He sat back, slugging his beer while Lydia scoffed at his existence and sipped her glass of wine. Across the table, Stiles felt Derek’s eyes on him, but refused to look. 

He wasn’t going to wonder what Derek thought of Stiles’ dynamic with his friends, or the apparent fact that Stiles was incapable of shutting up ever. He couldn’t remember how their interactions had gone while Derek and Scott were actually dating; he was pretty sure they’d barely interacted at all, since Derek had been an asshole who didn’t want to hang out with Scott’s friends. 

Just as expected, tonight’s trivia was very much in Stiles’ wheelhouse. But to his aggravation, Derek seemed to share that wheelhouse. Stiles never would have pegged him as a big Star Wars fan, but he knew most of the answers that Stiles did, and there were a couple questions that had Stiles stumped but Derek guessed correctly.

“I know which star destroyer it was, but I’m not sure about the original captain’s name,” Stiles said. Thinking aloud, not expecting help, but Derek put in,

“I think it was Jex-something. Jex Quandu? Quagan?”

Stiles nodded at him. “That sounds sort of right, I think it started with Q…”

Derek snapped his fingers. “Jex Quagarth!”

“Yes!” Stiles snapped his fingers back on automatic, then scowled when he realized he was working together with Derek. Scott gave him a small, knowing smile. Stiles drained his beer as Malia wrote their answer down.

The night wore on. Their team slayed most of the rounds. Stiles slid around the bases of tipsy, heading straight for a good and drunk home plate. His competitive nature was at war with his natural pettiness: he was thrilled that they were winning, but he almost wanted their answer to be wrong when it was an answer provided by Derek. 

Also, Derek kept trying to bait Stiles into talking about Star Wars with him. Stiles could see what was happening, and it pissed him off. If Derek thought he could win Stiles over through nerd bonding, he seriously underestimated the depth of Stiles’ ire. He mostly refused to take the bait. Occasionally he had to cut himself off mid-sentence while breaking down his opinions on Rian Johnson vs. J.J. Abrams, and Derek almost got him with the Darth Jar Jar theory. But Stiles remained strong, turning away from Derek more often than not, ignoring him as much as he could.

Stiles didn’t know how the topic of Han Solo and Lando Calrissian came up, maybe someone had mentioned the new Solo movie trailer and then Stiles had spiraled. There was a lull in trivia activity, anyway, as the rounds were over and they just had to wait while the trivia host tallied up the final points. Everyone was closing up their tabs, and it stood to reason that Derek would pay for Scott’s drinks, but it still annoyed Stiles to see Derek get up from the table to go pay for both of them. And when he came back, his contribution to the discussion when Stiles paused his talking to breathe was, “I agree. Lando should be in the new trilogy, there’s no reason for him not to be around if Han and Leia and Luke still are.”

Stiles grit his teeth. He didn’t want to engage, he shouldn’t engage, but he was already jabbing a finger in Derek’s face. “What, you want him to show up just to get killed off? Besides, it makes sense that he wouldn’t get involved with the Rebellion against the First Order. He made up for betraying Han in _Return of the Jedi_ and then he was done being a hero.”

“What? No way, Lando is a hero through-and-through. He made some mistakes, sure, but--”

“Made some mistakes?! He invited Darth Vader into his city! He’s responsible for Han being tortured and frozen in carbonite. That’s not, like, a mistake, that’s slipping several rungs down on the ladder to Hell.” Stiles’ hand was clenched into a fist on the table; he could feel the heavy side-eye Lydia was giving him but he couldn’t engage with that right now.

Derek stared at Stiles in disbelief. “Did we watch the same movies? Lando was pressured into betraying them to Vader but he’s otherwise a good guy, or at least no worse than Han.”

Stiles scoffed. “No worse than Han? Please. Lando isn’t fit to fire Han’s blasters.”

Scott was frowning at Stiles in confusion. “I thought Lando was the guy you’re always defending. Or was it Lendo? Did I get it wrong?”

Stiles ignored him. Once the adrenaline wore off he was going to hate himself for defiling Lando Calrissian’s good name, but in the moment nothing mattered but arguing against Derek. “Lando was only ever in it for himself! He didn’t want to get involved in the first place, and after that he was just cleaning up his own mess--”

“You’re just flat-out wrong,” Derek said. Stiles saw red. “The entire point of Star Wars is that redemption is possible for anyone, and you can’t tell me that what Lando did makes him worse than _Darth Vader._ ”

“Redemption isn’t a one-size-fits-all! Not everyone deserves forgiveness!”

The whole table went quiet. 

Derek stood up, clearing his throat. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

“No, don’t, they haven’t even announced the winners yet,” Scott said, catching Derek’s hand. “If anyone’s gonna leave, it should be Stiles.”

Stiles’ head whipped around to stare at Scott. “What the fuck, man!”

“I’m… gonna go double-check I didn’t leave my credit card at the bar,” Malia said, standing up. And grabbing her purse and coat, so she clearly wasn't planning on coming back.

“I’ll go with you. Probably won’t be back! Have a nice night everyone, and text me if we won,” Lydia said, hurrying to follow Malia away from the table.

A small voice in the back of Stiles’ head was trying to tell him that he’d pushed it too far, but Stiles had years of practice ignoring that voice. “I hate you,” he said to Derek.

“I know,” Derek said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you did NOT just try to Han Solo me bitch, how fucking--”

They were interrupted by the trivia host tapping on the mic to announce the winners. Stiles and Scott were both on their feet by now, too, Stiles leaning over the table and flipping out with his hands. He let his arms drop to his sides and rocked back on his heels as the host’s mic whined with feedback. 

Their team won. Scott, Stiles, and other friends depending on who could make it, had been coming to trivia at this bar semi-regularly for months, and they had only come in first place once before. Stiles would have liked to appreciate this, but Derek’s presence ruined any good feelings he might have had.

“I’ll go up and get our gift cards, or whatever he said the prize was,” Scott said, and Stiles felt a pinprick of guilt at how tired he sounded. “You two--try not to kill each other, or make up or something, I don’t know. Don’t leave, Derek, please?”

Derek didn’t react, standing there with his head ducked and his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket like he was about to walk out, and for a second he reminded Stiles so much of that mysterious guy in high school that it was disorienting. Then Derek gave Scott a stiff nod and a stiffer smile, and Scott smiled at him and touched his elbow in thanks. Stiles’ stomach soured.

Scott left to go talk to the trivia host, and around them many of the other bar patrons were getting up to leave. Music came on the speakers, a song Stiles didn’t recognize. The energy from their fight was draining out of him, and when Derek caught his eye he looked away. 

“This gonna be a problem?” Derek said, his voice level and cool. Stiles ran his tongue over his teeth.

“Are you even sorry?” The words just fell out before he could think, and Stiles didn’t like the way his voice sounded kind of raw, like maybe someone overhearing would think he was asking for himself. He looked back at Derek, meeting his eyes this time. “About fucking Scott over the way you did.”

Derek gave an angry little jerk of his shoulders. “You mean, back in high school? Yeah, of course I don't feel great about it. I’ve talked to _Scott_ about that.”

Stiles ignored the emphasis on ‘Scott.’ “Scott’s too nice for his own good.”

Derek’s lips pressed together in a thin line, and he took his hands out of his pockets to fold his arms over his chest. He probably thought that looked intimidating. Douche. “Is this the part where you threaten me in case I hurt him?”

“You mean, in case you hurt him again?” Stiles shrugged. All that beer was buzzing around in his brain, and he felt tired suddenly, wanting very much to be home in his bed instead of here, trying to get reactions out of Derek Hale. “Nah. I’m not gonna be that cliché. I just don’t like you, and I don’t like that you’re dating Scott.”

“Great,” Derek said flatly. “It’s not like I’m your biggest fan, either.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Unlike you, I haven’t actually done anything evil to you or your friends.”

“Yeah, I have this thing where I usually dislike people who are openly hostile to me. It’s strange, I know.”

Over Derek’s shoulder, Stiles could see Scott heading back their way. Stiles should really just leave before he had to see Scott’s disappointment in him again, but as ever he couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Are you seriously not even going to try to defend yourself? Or like, explain yourself, something?”

A muscle in Derek’s jaw tightened, just a fraction but Stiles saw it, saw that he’d hit a nerve. “It was ten years ago, and you weren’t involved. So no.”

“You’re a son of a bitch,” Stiles said, just as Scott got back to their table. Stiles was already stepping back, hands in the air in surrender. To Scott, he said, “Sorry, man. I don’t think making up is gonna happen.”

Stiles turned and walked out of the bar before Scott could answer. 

Back out on the street, Stiles shook out his fingers and rolled his shoulders, excess energy fizzling out of him. He wanted--water, and his bed and a true crime show lulling him to sleep. He needed to get an Uber back to his apartment, but he felt like walking a block or two first. 

Despite what Lydia said, Stiles hadn't shown up tonight with the intention of starting a blow-out fight. Or, well--he didn't think he had. It all felt so murky now.

Scott was going to be pissed at him, no question. Stiles was kind of pissed at himself, too. Not for being rude to Derek, but for losing his cool so obviously, for slandering Lando Calrissian, for ruining everyone's night. He was absolutely 100% right in his opinion of Derek, and if Scott had wanted a nice time he shouldn't have brought Derek in the first place. Scott shouldn't even be giving Derek the time of day, and Stiles kicked a pebble out into the street in renewed frustration at the existential injustice of it all.

As much as he had rolled his eyes at Derek for thinking that Stiles was playing the ‘hurt him and I’ll kill you’ card, he really did see himself going ballistic if Derek pulled the same shit again. But he knew it wasn’t just that. Stiles worried about Scott, he did, but it was hard to concentrate on the future when he felt so mired in the past. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, hello! I did not abandon this WIP despite the long wait, I just had some life events and things were very busy for a while. marbleflan, I hope you like this <3
> 
> this chapter contains a scene where the POV character is stoned, if anyone needs a warning for that.

Stiles kicked the door shut behind him as he struggled through the entryway of his father’s house with both arms holding as many canvas grocery bags as a human could carry and a plastic box of blueberries--it hadn’t fit in any of the bulging bags no matter how hard he’d tried--caught precariously in his teeth. 

“I guess you don’t need a hand,” his dad commented from his spot on the living room couch, paused judgily with his beer halfway to his mouth. 

Stiles verbalized an affirmative around the blueberry box, bending in half to deposit it delicately on the kitchen counter when he reached his destination. Stretching his newly freed jaw, he called out, “You had exactly zero vegetables in your fridge, okay, I wasn’t going to limit myself to just getting what we needed for dinner tonight.”

“So you brought me the whole produce section?” His dad shook his head, coming over to help Stiles put everything away. “How did you make it out of the store so fast with all this, anyway? I wasn’t expecting you for at least another twenty minutes.”

“I ran into Malia at the store, she helped me not get sucked into choice paralysis,” Stile said. Malia had found him in the condiments aisle, completely unable to make a decision about which brand of olive oil to buy. It wasn’t uncommon, running into her there; she lived one street away from the sheriff and Stiles’ apartment was another five minutes beyond that, so they all shopped at the same neighborhood stores. That was the thing about living in the same small town where he’d grown up: when Stiles was in a good mood, he liked knowing that there was a decent chance of running into someone he knew every time he ran errands; when he was in a bad mood, it made him feel trapped.

But he always liked running into Malia. She was good at cutting through the layers of Stiles’ overthinking to firmly hand him an olive oil bottle that was slightly higher end but also on sale, informing him that this was the one he wanted. Stiles always listened to her. It was hard not to, she was so decisive that even when she was obviously wrong about something she could still be convincing.

So she’d gotten him in and out of the store in half the time he usually needed when he shopped for his dad. As they left the store together, Stiles happily singing her praises across the parking lot, she changed the subject with her typical bluntness to say, “So what’s the deal with you and Derek?”

“Deal? There is no deal. He’s the fucking worst and I don’t like people who are the fucking worst.” Stiles didn’t mean to be so harsh, but when she swerved on him like this it sometimes put him on the defensive. 

But Malia just shrugged instead of snapping back and starting an argument, which she definitely would have done back when they’d dated in college. “Okay, but no one’s forcing _you_ to date him.”

Stiles groaned as he loaded the groceries into his car. “I know that you didn’t know us back when the original Derek/Scott drama went down, but like… just imagine that I dated someone who serial-killed dozens of people including me. And then you resurrected me and watched me heal from the trauma of dating a serial killer who tortured people in his murder basement. And then ten years later, I show up at your brunch announcing that I’m giving my serial killer ex-boyfriend who brutally killed me a second chance because he says he’s changed. Wouldn’t you feel protective?”

Malia’s mouth had twisted into a hilarious shape in her efforts not to laugh. “Nice deflecting. I’ll allow it.”

“Maybe I was being serious,” Stiles said darkly, then sighed. “Sorry for snapping at you. The Derek thing is just a sore spot. I’ll… deal with it.” He had zero plans to deal with it, but he didn’t want _all_ his friends to think he was an asshole.

Malia knocked her shoulder against his. “I get it. You just live for drama, that’s all.”

Sometimes Stiles regretted every life choice that led to him being in a tight friend group with two of his ex-girlfriends--his only ex-girlfriends, in fact. Between the two of them and Scott, there was no escape from people who knew him way too well.

“I’m glad Malia is still in town and still tolerates your company.” Stiles’ dad broke him out of his thoughts, coming over to peer skeptically into the bags that Stiles is trying to put away. “What even is this?”

“It’s kohlrabi, it was on sale.” Stiles took the offending vegetables from his dad and stored them in the produce drawer, grabbing other things that he’d need to cook tonight. Stiles never really learned to cook for himself, but after college he’d resumed his habit of occasional mother henning over his dad’s diet. It was more of an anxiety thing than anything else: his dad had gotten much better about taking care of himself over the years, but Stiles still needed an outlet for his worries about his dad being in his sixties but still occasionally getting guns pointed at him. 

So he came over here and cooked, at least once a week. By now he had a solid, tasty grasp on a few different recipes that he rotated between. Hell would probably freeze over before Stiles was ever motivated to make them for just himself, but he liked doing it in his dad’s kitchen.

“How is the rest of your girl gang doing these days?” Sheriff Stilinski asked once Stiles had dinner on the table. “Is Kira still in town?”

“No, she was just visiting. And everyone’s good, there’s no real news. Malia’s going to be an aunt soon, Allison wants a career change, Lydia’s still Lydia. Scott…” Stiles hesitated with his fork halfway to his mouth. Normally when something was bothering him, he was happiest ranting to anyone who would listen, but he didn’t feel like bitching about Derek again after his grocery store conversation with Malia. The prospect seemed tiring. 

“Scott is making dating decisions that I do not agree with,” he finished primly. 

“Is he now,” the sheriff said, looking at Stiles and waiting for him to continue. 

Stiles sighed and shoved a huge piece of broccoli in his mouth. His dad laughed, and didn’t press the issue.

***

When Stiles met up with Scott for a beer after work the next day, it was not a surprise that Scott wanted them to talk things out instead of pretending like trivia night never happened, which had been Stiles’ game plan. He couldn’t evade when Scott came to him with that earnest look on his face and grabbed the bar tab before Stiles had a chance to fight him on it. 

“I’m really sorry about Friday night. I didn’t mean for things to go down the way they did,” Scott said as soon as they sat down. Stiles made a face and kicked his shin under the table.

“Shut up. You know you’re not the one who needs to apologize.” Scott inclined his head, watching Stiles and reminding him slightly of a golden retriever. Stiles sighed and gulped his beer. 

“I’m sorry for being an asshole to your date and ruining your night.”

“It’s fine. I know you’re just looking out for me.” Scott smiled, and a knot loosened in Stiles’ chest, and they clinked glasses. “But we should uh, probably talk about you and… Derek….”

The knot was replaced with prickly cactus spines, and Stiles covered his face with one hand. “Should we? Should we really?”

Scott kicked him lightly under the table. “He feels bad about how things went down, you know. He didn’t want to fight with you. He thinks you’re cool and wants to be your friend.”

Stiles waved this away as irrelevant, because Scott was a terrible liar and there was just zero chance that Derek had said any such thing. “Look, obviously I feel bad about it too, it’s not like I wanted to fight with him. But wanting us to be friends might be shooting for the moon, Scott. And not in a corny ‘even if you miss, you still land among the stars’ bullshit way. In a, ‘you’re going to miss and find yourself lost in the unfeeling void’ way.”

Stiles recognized the mulish set to Scott’s jaw. God dammit. “Dude, no. It’s not shooting for the moon or the void or the _whatever_ to just want my boyfriend and my best friend to get along. Don’t act like it’s some insane unreasonable request!”

Stiles took a long pull of his beer, trying to keep his temper in check. He didn’t want to fight with Scott when he’d come here to apologize. “Maybe if he were any other guy, like literally any other human on this planet and I am not excluding war criminals from this list, it wouldn’t be unreasonable. But it’s not like--I don’t have to imagine that he might screw you over and prove that he’s not good enough for you, because he literally _already did that._ ”

Scott sighed with his whole body. “I know. I was there, man. I remember how it felt. It’s not like I didn’t think about it before giving him a second chance.”

“So why _did_ you give him a second chance?” Stiles shook his head in despair as Scott muttered something, probably some expletives of frustration, into his beer glass. “I’m being serious. I know he’s hot, but there are so many other guys out there. Why go back to your shittiest ex?”

“You’re really asking me to give you a list of Derek’s positive qualities? You’re not going to interrupt me by shrieking and throwing your beer across the room or something?”

Stiles scowled. “I’m really asking.”

“Derek has changed a lot since high school. Even if we hadn’t talked about how he’s changed, like talked a _lot_ , I think I’d be able to tell. He’s worked on himself a lot. And he’s kind, and thoughtful, and really funny.” Scott leaned over the table and gave Stiles his most imploring look. It was usually effective, it had implored Stiles into doing a thousand and one things over the years of their friendship. “If you just acted civil around him, you would start seeing those sides of him, too. I really think you guys could end up liking each other.”

Stiles looked away from Scott’s puppy dog eyes. “How would you feel if it were me, Scott? If the first guy I ever dated, back when we were kids, had fucked me over and cheated on me and broken my heart, and then I got back together with him and asked you to give him a chance. Just… just put yourself in my shoes.”

Scott frowned down into his glass, quiet for a while. Stiles fiddled with his beer coaster, ripping bits of damp soft cardboard off.

“It’s not like I don’t get where you’re coming from,” Scott said slowly. “So… okay, maybe it’s too much to ask for you guys to be friends. But can you at least not be rude to him? Try not to fight? It’s important to me.”

Stiles rubbed at the space between his eyebrows. He didn’t have a headache, but he felt like by all rights he _should_ have a headache. Emotionally, spiritually. “Fuck. Fine. I’ll try not to be a dick if he’ll do the same.”

“Thank you. Seriously, Stiles, it means a lot to me.” Scott beamed at him. Stiles scoffed.

“Yeah yeah, I’m the best friend a young man could possibly hope for. Can we talk about something other than Derek now? I’m breaking out into hives.”

***

Stiles tried to imagine Derek being kind, or thoughtful, or funny. It defied comprehension, it wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. Scott must have been hypnotized by the whole leather-jacket-and-stubble thing, conned into seeing things that weren’t there. Kind and thoughtful and funny wasn’t the Derek Hale that Stiles had fought with at trivia night, and it sure as hell wasn’t the Derek Hale that he had known in high school.

Even though Derek and Scott had dated during the time of their lives when Scott and Stiles were most attached at the hip, Stiles had surprisingly few memories of Derek talking to him, or even interacting. Maybe it was because time and his vengeful feelings had combined to buff away any positive, or even just neutral, memories of the guy. When Stiles tried to remember what had been his real impression of Derek’s character before he revealed himself to be a total asshole, it was a struggle to come up with anything other than he’d thought the guy was hot, because he was a horny teenager with eyes. 

Stiles could remember one time when Derek showed up while Stiles and Scott were getting high under the bleachers after school. It had been one of those rare afternoons when they didn’t have lacrosse practice, and Stiles remembered being gleeful about the fact that someone had sold weed to him, like that in and of itself was a marker of coolness and impending adulthood. He remembered the sun getting low in the sky even though it was barely six, days getting shorter with the changing season, remembered watching the shadows elongate over the lacrosse field.

It wasn’t the first time Stiles had smoked weed, but it might as well have been. He didn’t know yet if he liked it, had never been properly high because in the past he’d always managed to inhale wrong or been too drunk or some other thing had interfered with the effect. Scott wasn’t a stoner, either, but people liked to give things to Scott, because he was laid back and usually cheerfully down with whatever.

And it felt cool, lurking under the bleachers like teenagers who could maybe be capable of doing vaguely bad things. Cooler than hanging out in Scott’s room playing video games. Scott was texting his new boyfriend and reading each message aloud to Stiles, giggling the whole time. Even though Stiles wasn’t dating anyone, he almost felt a contact sense of coolness from his best friend being in an honest-to-god relationship. Stiles was feeding Scott lines, telling him to tell Derek that if he wanted a hot piece of McCall ass tonight he needed to stop being a recluse and come to the bleachers. 

“I’m not telling him that, shut up,” Scott said through laughter. But his thumbs were flying over his phone screen, and when he sent his text he tossed his phone on the grass and jiggled his knee, clearly nervous about waiting for a response as he motioned for Stiles to pass their meager little joint back to him.

Scott’s phone buzzed with Derek’s reply, and a grin lit up Scott’s face when he announced that Derek had agreed to join them for a little bit before calling it a night.

“I feel so lucky, Derek Hale gracing us with his presence,” Stiles said, sarcasm covering up his pleasure at Scott’s cool older boyfriend coming to join them, the cherry on top of an evening that already felt special. 

By the time Derek arrived, dark and broody in his leather jacket and black denim pants and the encroaching twilight, the pot had hit Stiles in a major way and he was too stoned to string many thoughts together. Too stoned to remember why he’d been anticipating Derek’s arrival; everything felt muddled, far away, and weirdly queasy.

Flopped down on his back on the grass, he had to lift his head and crane his neck to glimpse Derek sitting down next to Scott. He slipped his arm around Scott’s shoulders and squeezed him for a second before letting go and leaning away, half a hug. Maybe it was a good thing that Derek didn’t seem to be into PDA, because Stiles thought that it would probably be weird to see his best friend kissing somebody.

“So glad I can accommodate you,” Derek said, deadpan. Stiles realized he said part of that out loud.

“It’s not you.” Stiles felt like his tongue was weighed down by molasses, and every thought had to stumble over the thought that came right before it. “It’s just that I’ve known Scott since kindergarten. Practically seen him in diapers. The toddler Scott that lives in my mind doesn’t go around kissing people.”

“What are you even saying,” Scott groaned. Derek laughed softly, and Stiles couldn’t tell if it was “at” or “with” type laughter. He’d always thought he would enjoy being stoned, from the way other people described it. Like maybe it would be a welcome slowdown on the frantic rabbit nature of his brain. But it turned out that it actually sucked and Stiles was ready to go back to his usual mode of existence, which was at least familiar even if it tired him out.

Derek didn’t stay for very long. Every time Stiles glanced over at him (which wasn’t often, as he couldn’t seem to raise himself to a sitting position so he stayed lying down, getting a great view of gum stuck to the underside of the bleachers), Derek looked just slightly stiff. Even when he was smiling at Scott, he looked like part of him was on alert for something telling him to run. 

Stiles barely knew this guy, had only met him once and very briefly a couple weeks before this. But he seemed so on edge, weirdly so considering he’d chosen to come hang out with them of his own free will. Stiles wondered if it was because they were doing drugs.

“You think I’m paranoid? You’re the one who’s high,” Derek said with a snort. Whoops--Stiles had accidentally spoken his thoughts out loud again. Derek rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, like a robot who’s been given a description of how human beings show relaxation. “Just because I don’t smoke myself doesn’t mean I’m not used to people doing it around me. I’m not worrying that the cops will show up.”

“Then what are you worried about?” The question slipped out before Stiles could think about how it could sound kind of invasive, from someone that Derek didn’t really know. From someone who was only here on the grass with them because he was third-wheeling.

Derek’s eyes met his, and Stiles couldn’t read his expression. “Nothing specific,” he said, a beat too late for it to be the truth. 

Stiles’ memories of the evening were hazy after that. Derek had said he couldn’t hang around long, and he and Scott left together before Stiles’ high had a chance to wear off. He’d had to wait on the lacrosse field by himself, drinking water and waiting to feel clear-headed enough that he felt okay to drive home. At the time, that solo waiting period had felt agonizingly long, but probably it had only been like twenty minutes.

There hadn’t been many other instances of just the three of them hanging out. Stiles would hear from Scott about things that Derek said or did, sometimes nice things, and more frequently towards the end of their relationship, things that Scott couldn’t understand or found hurtful. Derek not texting back for days, or flaking on plans at the last minute with weird excuses, or refusing to even talk about the possibility of dating more openly. Stiles felt more and more protective of Scott and annoyed with Scott’s boyfriend, and then--well, then things ended horribly and any slightly positive first impressions Stiles might have had of Derek were overwritten by rage. 

It was strange to think about in the present, strange to try and recollect what Derek had been like as an eighteen-year-old. Before Stiles hated him. After Derek broke up with Scott by confessing to cheating, he did an impressive job of disappearing at school and avoiding Stiles at all costs, so Stiles never got the chance to confront him. Never got the chance to yell or (as he’d sometimes fantasized about) throw a punch and see if Derek would defend himself, see if he’d even want to.

Stiles didn’t know if he was up to the task of interacting with Derek with any kind of mildness, as if he were just anyone. Derek had never been just anyone.

***

“Yes, Allison, I know I’m a Slytherin, it’s pretty obvious,” Lydia said. “I was just asking, since we’re all talking about Harry Potter houses, if anyone had any arguments for me being in another house. I’d love to hear them. For the sake of discussion.”

“You just want us all to talk about you,” Allison said, and Lydia pouted at her across the table. They were back at their usual bar, outside this time because the weather was nice. 

“Is this that one online test you made me take right when we started dating? With the, like, wands or whatever?” Malia asked Stiles. Stiles grimaced.

“Uh, okay, first of all, you didn’t have to expose me like that and you know it. Second of all, yes, and you got Gryffindor which makes so much sense that I probably didn’t need to insist on the official Pottermore test in the first place.”

“Gryffindors up top!” Scott said, high-fiving Malia. Stiles groaned good-naturedly, then groaned bad-naturedly when Scott turned to Derek and asked, “What about you?”

Stiles knew he should shut the fuck up, but sarcasm was flying off his tongue before he could stop himself. “You really think your Leather Jacket McStubble boyfriend here has enough feelings about Harry Potter to have house sorting opinions?

Lydia fixed Stiles with a Look. “Stilinski. You of all people should know that Harry Potter has transcended nerddom and is more of a generational influence. I mean, _I_ care about it.”

“Yeah Stiles, it’s a generational influence,” Scott said, sticking his chin out. Before Stiles could argue, Derek leaned forward, his elbows on the table. 

“I’ve taken the official quiz twice,” he said, meeting Stiles eyes. “Gotten Hufflepuff each time.”

“No fucking way,” Stiles said. “Then you’ve been lying on the quizzes, there is zero percent chance you’re a Hufflepuff.”

“Oh, because you know me so well now?”

“No, because I know Harry Potter canon and I know that Hufflepuff house doesn’t value being a heartless monster?”

Derek’s eyes flashed. He ignored Scott’s noises of protest and Malia and Lydia’s ‘oooh’s to lean in closer, speaking directly to Stiles. “And has it not occurred to you that maybe what I did in high school caused me to care a lot more about values like family and kindness?”

That hadn’t occurred to Stiles, and it smelled distinctly of bullshit, and even if it made him seem like a heartless monster himself he was prepared to refute it as such, but Lydia reached forward across the table suddenly and in the process, knocked her cocktail over, scattering ice and sending a wave of punch across the table in Malia’s direction. None of the drink spilled on Malia or even splattered on her outfit. It was flawlessly done, and in the ensuing commotion the topic of Harry Potter houses was abandoned.

Lydia met Stiles’ eyes and the look on her face said, _I just saved you from saying something awful and making everyone furious with you and I expect to be compensated with iced coffee tomorrow morning._ Stiles scowled and slumped back in his seat, and the look he shot back meant, _it’s not that I don’t appreciate you but I still think I’m right and now my throat burns with unspoken ranting, however I’ll buy you a coffee in thanks regardless._

***

“How dare you,” Stiles said, incensed, even more incensed than he was generally in Derek’s presence. “How dare you claim that my love of nature is insincere or any less pure than yours, just because I’m not crazy about _mosquitoes--_ ”

“You’ve been complaining non-stop the entire time we’ve been hiking,” Derek said. “And you’re surprised that it’s given me the impression that maybe you don’t like hiking?”

“I’m sorry that some of us don’t hike in complete silence, Henry David Thoreau.”

Derek threw up his hands. They had separated slightly from most of the rest of the group, Malia and Allison and Scott hiking together ahead with Scott throwing occasional irritated glances at them over his shoulder. “I don’t mind you talking, I just thought that maybe since you seem to not be having a good time, that--”

“Oh don’t give me that fake concern, you mind me talking--”

“Only because you’re always yelling at me or complaining!”

“Which I only do because you’re consistently terrible! --oh, have we reached the end of the trail?”

“Nope, but hike’s over,” Scott said loudly, pushing past Stiles as their group started on the hike back down. “I need a drink.”

***

“All I’m saying is that those vegetables are going to burn if you leave them in the center like that--what are you doing, don’t come at me with your tongs, man, I’m not ready to die over some grilled peppers!”

“I take grilling very seriously,” Derk said slowly. He lowered the tongs but still looked very intense, more like he was informing Stiles that he had a certain set of skills than defending his (wrong) grilling technique.

Stiles raised up his hands in self-defense and edged away before getting his next potshot in. “Really? Then I would think you’d be better at it--”

Stiles felt a hand on his elbow, dragging him off to the side. He stumbled a bit, surprised because Scott wasn’t usually the type to physically drag anyone anywhere. But his grip was firm on Stiles’ arm and he walked with purpose, taking them out of his backyard and around the corner of the house to his driveway. His face looked like a thundercloud. 

Stiles felt a stab of guilt before Scott even opened his mouth. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to be helpful, you know Lydia can’t tolerate charred corn and I have a feeling Derek only ever grills meat, so maybe he shouldn’t be the one in charge of the whole barbecue?”

“Cut the crap,” Scott said through gritted teeth. Stiles straightened up, his bitchy grimace sliding off his face, trying to communicate nonverbally that the crap was cut. “You’re being mean to him, Stiles. You’re not a mean person but you’ve said some really dickish things to him every time you’ve shared space with him. Do you even hear yourself?”

Stiles opened and shut his mouth. Scott was right; he wasn’t a cruel person, or at least he didn’t want to be. He wanted to defend himself, wanted to point out that Derek had said some plenty harsh things to him too, wanted to protest that he hadn’t started every single fight they’d had. But Stiles’ bullshit often short-circuited when faced with Scott’s most genuine ‘disappointed mom’ face. It was too powerful, he had learned from Melissa too well.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a jerk,” Stiles said. “I know you told me to try to be nicer, but….”

“But what? It’s hard?” Scott said sharply, and Stiles felt his cheeks burn. “You’re _not_ trying, dude. And yeah Derek hasn’t been great to you either and I have to talk to him about it, too, but uh. You’re my best friend and he’s my boyfriend of a couple months and I’m not super looking forward to that conversation.”

Stiles let out a gust of breath and rubbed his hands over his face. He would pay his whole next paycheck right now to have Scott and Derek break up and Derek gone from their lives again, but he only wanted that to happen if there was some magic way for Scott to not be hurt by it. He didn’t want to make problems for Scott. He didn’t want to sabotage his best friend’s happiness.

“If it’s that much of an issue then maybe you shouldn’t invite me to these group things anymore,” Stiles said, the words bitter on his tongue. He wasn’t self-sacrificial by nature, the furthest thing from it, but it might be easier to surrender some of his social life than to put up with Derek’s presence while playing nice.

“Are you kidding? No. Spending less time with you is not a solution.” Scott looked stubborn and certain about this, and Stiles felt a rush of affection for his friend. “I think asking you guys to just pretend to be nice to each other was wrong of me. No wonder you keep exploding. The two of you need to sit down and actually talk through the problem and hash things out and resolve this for good.”

“No,” Stiles said, aghast. Because he was happy to fight with Derek all day, but that wasn’t what Scott meant, Scott meant conflict resolution and ‘I’ statements and--

“We were talking about going camping next weekend anyway, right? Why don’t you and Derek drive up together.” 

“That’s like an hour drive! You can’t do this to me,” Stiles said, but Scott already had that excited gleam in his eyes. He clapped a hand to Stiles’ shoulder and squeezed.

“An hour is plenty of time for you guys to air all the dirty laundry and get to know each other,” he said. “Or at least get all the insults out of your system and then you won’t be able to think of mean things to say to him anymore.”

“But you know my creativity is limitless,” Stiles protested. Scott just laughed. 

“I think it’ll be good for you both,” he said, and pulled Stiles into a swift hug. Stiles hugged him back, despairing. Scott was thrilled with his idea, and Stiles knew he had lost. His immediate future held the promise of an hour spent with Derek alone, with no proxy subjects to fight about and no chance of escape unless he threw himself from a moving vehicle. It was going to be miserable.

But as Stiles followed Scott back to the barbecue and glanced over at Derek turning the charred corn, he felt a grim curl of satisfaction in his belly. Because Derek was going to be stuck with him, too. And maybe, with all of Scott’s earnest desperation for them to work things out on the line, Derek would finally give Stiles what he’d wanted all along. Maybe he would finally talk to Stiles about his behavior all those years ago, and explain and even apologize, and Stiles would finally understand why.


End file.
